


You've Got a Friend in Me

by Paint Me a Symphony (youngerdrgrey)



Series: 1000 Theme Challenge [8]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-07
Updated: 2009-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngerdrgrey/pseuds/Paint%20Me%20a%20Symphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When the road looks rough ahead, and you're miles and miles from your nice, warm bed, you just remember what your old pal said, girl, you've got a friend in me. </i>
</p>
<p>-- Eventual Camteen/Cadley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Got... a Scare From Me

**Author's Note:**

> (#80 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Better Left Unsaid")
> 
> In this chapter, Cameron is "you"

Your thoughts spin out of control, like a freight train that has been derailed. You gaze at her fallen form and cannot believe she was stupid enough to fall into this trap. You had sort of expected more. No, you had definitely expected more, but there she was having caved in to the insane demands of working for House.

"Dumb bitch," you mumble. Maybe House should have named her the bitch of the pack instead of Amber. Then again, maybe House should have fired her instead of letting Amber leave. You are sure a hell of a lot of problems could have been prevented if he would have just chosen the blonde girl instead - the events of the last few months for one. But, it is too late to ponder the 'what ifs'. You have got to focus on the dying girl sprawled on the ground from what you are sure is an overdose of some kind of drug.

Uh, this was not what you signed up for. Hell, you did not even sign up voluntarily. Another pool in the hospital was circling due to the third consecutive absence of House's female fellow. Everyone figured she was either truly fired after shooting up during work hours, or out having hot lesbian hate sex, or something along those lines. Your curiosity had simply gotten the most of you and before you knew it, you had Lucas' copy of Thirteen's apartment key and you were on your way to visit a person you were sure had no interest in Chase's latest form of merriment.

You had knocked on the door a good ten times before figuring something was wrong. You inserted the key in the lock and turned it hesitantly. You were not completely sure why you were so cautious with the number of times you had broken into people's places. Then again, all the previous times you could just blame it on House. This one was all you. Still, you pushed open the door and headed through the place, looking around curiously. It really was a cute apartment. You were all ready to give up and turn around when you saw a limp hand by a doorway. You went over to it and felt all the blood drain from your body. Lying on the ground was a passed out brunette that you recognized from a few run-ins with the new team. You had screamed, looked at her, and screamed again; and that's exactly how you got to where you are now - which is not much better.

You have long sense gotten over the fact that she is an idiot for doing drugs alone in her apartment, instead choosing to think about how she seems to be taking a short cut down the road to House-ness. That thought is in no way comforting, but you find that you cannot disregard it.  _They are both pretty similar_ , you think. They enjoy their privacy and use sarcasm like air. They pride themselves on one-upping others and grow better through every incident and mistake. They also both seem to have a fondness for IV-drugs.

You turn your attention back to her, and go closer. You place your hands gently underneath her shoulders and hoist her up as much as you can. You then proceed to pull her from the ground to the bed a few feet away. You place her atop the covers and step back. She looks pretty peaceful lying there. But who wouldn't be if they had gone into a deep sleep from some drug or another? You begin to wonder what drugs she was taking and why.

_It can't be all House_ , you think,  _even House could not do this much damage that quickly_. _She seemed fine the other day when she passed through the E.R. And, it certainly can't be just dealing with that dying patient she stopped seeing. What was her name again?_

You contemplate asking Thirteen when she awakes only to disregard that notion. She probably would not want to talk about the patient, especially if her coming off drugs was anything like the last time you came off a good high.

_Or a bad high depending on how you want to look at it._

A small groan tears you away from your thoughts. You look to the side and see that she is now waking up. You sigh, at least she is conscious now.

"W-what?" she whispers blinking slowly.

You grin. She almost looks cute when she does that.

_Wait, did I just think she was cute? No, almost cute. No, Chase is cute. Puppies are cute. Thirteen is not cute. Mildly attractive, but never cute._

You shake your head. She is now looking at you blankly, with her eyes glassy in a way that has to be the effect of the drugs and her hair falling over her face.

"Welcome to the land of the living," you greet, turning your attention solely on the patient. Your voice must have shaken something for she now sits up a bit straighter.

"Dr. Cameron?" she asks, you nod.

"In the flesh," you say smiling lightly.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" she asks.

_"Oh, I was just trying to figure out a pool and broke into your apartment to see what was going on. Don't freak out though,"_  says some sarcastic voice in your head. You decide that would not be the best thing to tell her.

"I was sent to figure what was going on with you, and found you passed out on your bedroom floor," you answer. She nods slowly. Her gaze goes to her room. She almost seems to be looking for something to say.

"Um, you probably should go," she says, shakily bringing a hand through her dark, auburn hair. Your stare is brought to her hair, and you feel the sudden urge to dye yours back to its natural color.  _Brown really did look good on me_ , you tell yourself.

"Oh, no," you mumble, fumbling to collect your thoughts again, "I can't leave now. The doctor in me requires that I make sure you're perfectly fine before I leave, preferably with you on the way to PPTH,"

She shakes her head quickly, and you see her wince. Fast movements really aren't good when recovering from passing out. You can remember that from your own drug scare.

"I can't go to the hospital. I'm fine anyway. Look at my head, no bumps, no bleeds, and no problems," she insists

"You hit hard wood flooring after taking drugs," you comment

"I was  _not_  taking drugs," she snaps

"You weren't? Then what you were doing? Holding your breath until you passed out?"

"No. I was moving around, and I got dizzy," she says. Her tone makes you almost reconsider your theories. She seems to be admitting to something in a defiant sort of way. You can practically hear the 'fine, I'll say it, but I'm not going to like it' in her voice.

"Dizzy? You honestly expect me to believe that the person who's been out stirring the hospital rumor mills with countless tales of nameless one night stands was on the ground because she just 'got dizzy'?" you ask with your hands on your hips. The disbelief coming from your question is just enough to trump your considerations from earlier.

"Yes, I do," she says, "Because from what I hear Alison Cameron is a ridiculously gullible, young doctor who believes anything a pretty face tells her,"

You frown at the jab.

"Wow, and here I was thinking that I was so untrusting that I kept everyone out of my crumbling life," you mutter albeit loud enough for her to hear you.

She chuckles breathily.

"Look, Dr. Cameron, I appreciate you stopping by, but I don't think you playing chaperone is necessary. I'll be back to work in no time, so, you can move on back to the E.R," she says, motioning towards her bedroom door.

"Not my shift,"

"Clinic hours?"

"Already done,"

"Paperwork?"

"Got an assistant,"

"Dirty laundry?" she suggests weakly. You smirk.

"I dry clean now," you tell her. She groans leaning back into her many pillows. She throws her head back, and the sight of her bare neck takes you aback.

_Wow, the skin lying there looks almost deli_ \--wait, what are you thinking? You close your eyes as tightly as she does, though for two completely different reasons.

"Look, I fell. Do you freak out every time Kutner or Taub falls? Or is it just for people like me?" she asks irritably. You don't ask what she means by 'people like me'. You know what she means. She means the ones who are most susceptible to breaking after being pushed one too many times, the ones who push people away while craving for someone to be there, the ones currently dying from more than just emotional pain.

You have to say something in response. So, you go for the doctor approach.

"I respond the same way I do whenever I feel medical attention may be necessary," you reply

"Bullshit," she hisses, "The only reason you're acting like this is because of some obsession with making everyone in the world as fricken' perfect as you. We're not all happy little E.R Senior Attendings, okay?"

"Who said I was even a happy E.R Senior Attending?" you ask before you can stop yourself, "I lose more patients in a day then your department probably loses in a month, or three. Nearly everyone who walks through the doors for me is dangling on a thin thread, and I hold the ability to cut the cord. I am so sorry if my caring is unnerving to the mysterious baby duckling,"

She raises an eyebrow at you. You aren't really that surprised. You don't usually speak like that to her - or anyone for that matter. An apology is quick on your tongue until she speaks again.

"Why do you want me to go to the hospital so bad? Got another pool going?" she wonders

"Why do you want to stay away from the hospital so bad? Got another former lover waiting?" you retort. She frowns. You probably shouldn't have said that.

"Funny," she mumbles tightly

"I thought so. Now, are you going to come get checked out - which will take a total of maybe five minutes - or are you going to sit here and sulk?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Her question is rhetorical - as was yours. She scoots from the bed to the ground. It takes her but a moment to announce she's ready to go. A quick tussle of her hair, a smooth slip into her shoes, and a jacket tossed on her arm, and she is at the door waiting for you. She does not ask how you got in in the first place. You almost kind of wish she would. Her not talking is starting to get to you already. You never did work well with awkward pauses. To try and get rid of it, you hastily say the first thing to come to your mind.

"There actually is a pool going around about what's happened to you. Top runners right now are that you slept with House and that you're suffering yourself from some mysterious ailment. Which one should I put my money on?"

It is meant as a joke. However, her response makes you certain she took it the wrong way. You can tell by the stiffness of her shoulders that comes after your question why she was at home for so long, doing Lord knows what with God knows who. You want to comment on it, but figure if she is coming with you there truly is no reason to do so. Besides, some things are better left unsaid. Her disease being one of them.


	2. You Got... Memories From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last one, Cameron realized that mentioning Thirteen's disease wasn't exactly the best choice on her part. In this one, Thirteen finds some boundaries that Cameron has. This one is off the prompt "Count the Stars", and gives a bit of insight into Thirteen's past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (#152 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Count the Stars")  
> Thirteen is "you"

_"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." - Oscar Wilde, 1892_

It is an age-old tradition from when you were four. You remember, your mother would take you outside, on the back porch, and you two would sit there and count the stars littering the sky. You would start with the first one you saw and make a wish, always the same one. Your mother would ask you what you wished for. In response, you always gave her that cute little kid smile and told her that it would not come true if you shared it with anyone. One time, you guys were sitting out there, and she had just started crying. You did not even notice until her star count was off. You looked over to her and found her shaking uncontrollably with tears running down her face. Her hands were out in front of her, trembling violently in a way that looked too unnatural to have to do with her tears. That was the day you really realized something was seriously wrong with your mother. That was the last time your mother ever counted the stars with you. That was over ten years ago.

You stand out on the balcony outside House's office, breathing deeply and staring above you. There are plenty of stars, but you cannot bring yourself to pay that much attention. Your mind is still full of thoughts of dead parents and positive test results. So full, that you do not notice the door open, or hear the feet coming near you. It is only when you hear a soft sigh from next to you that you realize you are not alone.

You snap 'round quickly to the person intruding on your private moment. Your face morphs into a frown as you note just who is out here this evening.

_Why is she suddenly everywhere I turn?_  You ask yourself.

"The stars are really beautiful, don't you think?" inquires the blonde doctor. You nod absently, eyes never wavering from her face. She continues to look above as if she had not even spoken.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

"Thinking. Breathing. Counting. You?"

"Dying."

You face the sky again almost immediately after. You are not interested in seeing her concerned expression for what would surely be the eightieth time that day. It has not even been a few hours since last you two were together. It is completely her doing as well. She is the one who dragged you out here to the hospital in the first place. You still cannot believe she came to your apartment and brought you to work of all places. Where was the kind, supportive doctor who was supposed to let you stay at home another week to make sure you were not brain-damaged? And, when was she replaced by this impassive, inquisitive blonde standing beside you?

"Well, we all are, dying that is. It still doesn't explain why you're out here though," she responds. You give a half-hearted shrug. What it is supposed to say, you are not sure. But, you are sure she doesn't get it either.

A pregnant pause worms its way into the night. After a bit of this, you decide to fill it with a little fact from your past.

"My mother used to love the stars. She told me that every person who does good and dies becomes one. And, when that person loves someone, their star will always shine bright when they're out at night."

You are not looking at her when you finish this, but you can see her small, sad smile anyway.

"Do you believe your mother is a star?" she asks

"No," you mumble downcast, "She never did anything too good."

"The word is pretty flexible, Dr. Hadley."

"Are you?" you deflect

"Am I what?" she asks

"Are you flexible?"

She quirks an eyebrow upwards.

"For the most part, no. Is that relevant to this conversation?" she ponders

"No. Then again, this conversation isn't relevant at all," you declare. She nods in agreement, then goes back to the stars. You watch her stare into the sky and your eye catches a star not too far from her. She speaks before you can pay much notice.

"I wonder which one is Daniel."

"You believe he's up there?"

"I believe that everyone that passes through our lives is up there, looking down on us," she responds, you stay quiet, "Sorry, that was probably too much optimism for your pessimistic outlook."

You crack a small grin.

"My pessimistic outlook is fine, thank you very much."

"I never said that it wasn't. I just don't want to jeopardize your cool cat image by letting it out that you think your mom is watching over you."

"I don't!" you insist quickly. She seems unconvinced.

"Right. Then why are you out here?"

"Because you brought me here…. And, because every one of those little dots is a burst of energy, burning and burning until eventually it fizzles out and dies. Think of people as stars, Dr. Cameron. We can go on forever, shining brightly. Or, we can fall and in that instant where we die, someone else will be enjoying themselves, will be making a wish, or being born. Stars die everyday, and we don't do anything. We can't stop it."

"Stars are also made every now and again too."

"I know. It's why the count is never always the same."

"I thought that was just because we have to stop counting them eventually."

"That too."

You wait for her to say something else. She probably is doing the same. She looks at you, urging you on with her eyes. A plane flies overhead, and you are reminded of your childhood again.

"When I was younger, I used to say that I was going to get in a rocket ship and go find my mother's star. I told myself that when I found it, I would build a house there and stay there for the rest of my life, with my mother. I-it was a good dream while it lasted," you tell her.

"How long did it last?"

"Two hours. Then, my cousin told me that stars were just burning balls of gas, and I could never live on one no matter what."

"That was kind of mean."

You shrug, saying, "That was Joseph Hadley."

Your gaze once again is drawn to that star near her head. Its placement brightens up the blonde doctor's eyes perfectly, making them come out even more against the dark sky. It shines atop her glossy hair, drawing out a beauty that hospital lights could never achieve. You shake your head as thoughts of her pile up too quickly for your tastes.

"How often do you 'get dizzy'?" she asks you.  _And the subject changes_.

"Depends. Are we talking about me actually being dizzy, or what you insisted I was when you broke into my apartment this morning?" you ask back. She thinks for a moment.

"Both," she eventually says.

"The second one is about the same as it was in college; every now and again. The first one is… the first one has the same answer."

"You know, it really isn't so bad," she comments. You roll your eyes. What does she know about what you are going through? She watched a guy die. She was not the one dying. It is around now that you figure she knows more than she lets on. More about life, more about House, and certainly more about you. You can't stop yourself from uttering a new plaguing question aloud.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you known?"

"About the drugs? Not long. House was talking about them a few days ago. I just-"

"Not the drugs. The Huntington's."

She is silent. For a moment, you consider the option that she never knew. Then, you dismiss it with the notion that House has probably spread it all around the hospital by now.

"Two months," she admits, "I was cleaning out the files House always dumps in the janitor's closet and came across your lab report. You must have left it with him."

She watches you, waiting for a sign that what she said has registered in your mind. You slowly nod, more for show than out of some necessary need to do so.

"Did anyone ever try to go through you to House?" you ask.

"Not that I know of, no. What, thinking about the seven patient again?"

She gives you a funny sort of smile that makes you want to smile too. You do not smile though.

_Seven? Oh, my score!_

You are not sure whether to feel violated, or something else, by the fact that she knows about that. You go for intrigued instead.

"So, you heard about that," you start, she nods.

"Yeah. I was expecting higher though. What with your personality and eerie, blue eyes, I thought you were looking at a nine, easy."

"Eerie, blue eyes?" you repeat. She shrugs.

"It was either that, or 'vampiric, glass-like crystals that make you want to just rip her clothes from her slim body'. I figured the other would be a bit inappropriate," she concludes with a smirk. Her look probably has more to do with your open mouth than what she said though.

"You want to rip my clothes from my body?"

"I never said that. That was actually Chase."

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"As in Robert Chase? Your fiancé?" you ask to clarify.

"Rob is not my fiancé," she insists defensively. You subconsciously file that reaction away for later reference.

"Why isn't he?" you probe.

"Ah, we are not going there," she declares.

"Why not? I mentioned my dead mother," you say.

"I mentioned my dead husband."

"I said I was dying."

"I admitted to dumpster diving for House's files."

"I told you something extremely personal."

"I… never told you to," she says. You frown. She really didn't tell you to say anything. She never even initiated a conversation. She simply asked a question when she first got there. You did all of it. That revelation has you silent and back to the stars once again. She laughs a little. From the corner of your eye, you see her shake her head as well.

"Wow. You are definitely well-fitted for a position under House," she says still laughing. You feel as if you are the butt of some joke only she understands.

"Too bad you never were," you snap before you can stop yourself. The smile melts away from her face. Her bright eyes burn cold. The temperature outside drops a good twenty degrees just from the glare sent your way. By her reaction, it is pretty obvious that her previous(?) crush on House is still too much of a soft spot.

She opens her mouth to retort, but closes it just as quickly. She shakes her head at you and goes to the door. You resist the urge to watch her walk away instead watching the sky. You pretend not to notice the door slam shut, or how empty the balcony feels now that it is just you again. However, you cannot help but note that the star you had been staring at before had dimmed dramatically when that portal to reality closed once more. It is fine though. One less star for you to count.


	3. You Got... Some Tears From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Cameron and Remy had a chat. This time, like the last, Remy takes the reigns and steers down the path of another day of emotional turmoil and pointless wandering in a previously vacant place, only to be intruded on by a certain blonde doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (#329 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Haunting")

It is a simple enough concept; the truth. So simple that it should take only a moment for a person to reach the point in which they can share it with another. On that fine December morning, you continue to realize just how not simple the truth can be.

Your slender form feels weak and vulnerable atop the table in the clinic. The notion of what happened last time you were in a clinic room without a patient does not come to you. Nor does the idea of the consequences being found in here again could cause. Then again, it's not like you are doing anything like the last time. You are not hooked up to IV drugs, or fresh from a nightclub. You're simply sitting. Thinking could also describe your current state.

_How does this always happen?_  You wonder.  _It's always the same story. And, now, I'm screwed, completely screwed. But, I've made so much progress. I don't want to stop. I'm going to have to, though. Uh, I cannot believe I was so stupid! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

You curse yourself a thousand times over. You, then, add an extra twenty when you hear footsteps approaching. The clicking pattern alerts you of female presence. Your eyes come together tightly in anticipation. Five. Four. Three. Two. On-

"Dr. Hadley?" inquires a melodic voice. Your eyes snap open. A sigh escapes you happily. Of the two evils the heels could have meant, this is definitely the lesser.

"Hello, Dr. Cameron," you say gaily. You notice, with a pleased smile, that Cameron is watching you almost hesitantly.

"What are you doing in here?" Cameron asks.

"Just relaxing, you know. I find these places are pretty comforting when they aren't filled with sick kids and stupid adults," you respond. Cameron still stares blankly.

"Do you know how House-like that statement was?"

"Sorry, too much time with him, I suppose," you return, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home? The Christmas party usually marks the Christmas weekend, and the break for most spirited doctors."

Cameron simply shrugs at your attempt at distracting her.

"I work in the Emergency Room. There's no such thing as a break. I was headed to my locker when I noticed the light on," Cameron explains.

"I probably should have turned that off," you mumble. She seems to hear you, though.

"That leads me back to my first question: what are you doing in here?" she inquires.

"Thinking," you try, Cameron waits for more, "I kind of have a lot on my mind. I never went home last night, so, I came down here."

Cameron now seems even more interested in the situation. She does not ask another question, however. She pulls over the chair the doctor usually sits in, and plops down.

You suspect that the silence is supposed to make you want to speak. You also suspects that Cameron is lying. No one comes to work at a hospital in heels the day before Christmas unless things at home are even more pathetic than at the job. You decide not to voice that thought.

"It's Christmas Eve," Cameron says. It holds no joy, or happiness. It sounds more like a fact than what you would expect to hear in that statement.

"That it is."

"Are you doing anything for Christmas?" Cameron questions.

"No," you tell her, "You probably are having some big dinner with your family and Chase, aren't you?"

"Nope. I'm working tomorrow. Chase is flying to Australia for the week. I talked him into it. His family misses him."

It is your turn to be intrigued.

"Are you sure you aren't just drawing the lines again? I heard all about how long it took for you to even accept him as dateable. Is he not worthy of your holiday festivities?"

Cameron smiles, joking, "I was actually planning on getting drunk this year and dancing on tables singing old pop songs. Figured I'd save him the embarrassment of bringing me home after that."

You sort of grin too.

"I'll pick you up. So long as I get to put your entire outing on youtube and make it the hospital Christmas e-card next year," you propose.

"Only if you tell me why you never left here last night," Cameron declares. You pause, then you just go for it.

"I decided to be just like you and have sex with a colleague in the hospital," you state matter-o-factly. You know that the truth in that statement will fly right over Cameron's head.

"You're cute, Thirteen, real cute," Cameron snaps half-heartedly. You force a smirk onto your face.

Nothing is said. You two sit in your respective spots, unsure where to go from there. The things floating in the air between you are haunting at best. You have the sinking sensation that you just might explode if one more second passes in this pattern. There are so many things to elaborate on while you have the chance. The fact that you slept with Foreman being among the top ranks, the strange kick you felt when Cameron called you cute is somewhere in there too. Finally, you cave.

"I slept with Foreman."

The silence that follows that is almost as deafening as the one before. Cameron's jaw lies in the lap of her finely pressed skirt, while her eyes stay as round as dinner plates. It takes quite some time for her to recover. Even when she speaks, it is evident how shaken the elder doctor is.

"You slept with Eric Foreman?" Cameron repeats to clarify, you nod, "Why?"

You quirk an eyebrow at the almost shriek that escaped your current companion.

"N-not that he isn't a great guy, because Eric is a lovely person when he isn't consumed by life as a doctor. I just…. Why?" Cameron reiterates.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here thinking about it," you bite.

"Did this happen last night?"

"It's why we never made it to the Christmas party. I can't believe I slept with him of all people. I'm going to have to drop from the drug trial," you conclude.

"Why?" Cameron demands, "No one knows."

" _I_  know. I can't pretend like I didn't sleep with him and keep getting help. I'll always wonder if the attention he puts on me has to do with my disease, or the fact that we were together. You wouldn't understand."

"Yeah, because sleeping with Chase definitely didn't complicate anything."

"You walked into that though."

"Not the first time. First time I was with Robert, I was high on crystal meth," Cameron admits, "I was scared that I was infected with HIV, took some of our patient's drugs, and went to town."

"Wow," you mutter.

"And, House found out basically by the next differential that we slept together," Cameron chuckles humorlessly, "It took time before we could work together without me feeling awkward. Then again, it was always that way with Chase. My first year here I ended up so uncomfortable that I listed off all the things the body goes through during sex. Can you believe that?"

You laugh a bit, saying, "No, I can't. Not at all."

"Well, it happened, and it's been a while since then. Things won't be the same between you two, but you can't let it stand in the way of you getting help. If you do, it'll just be something that haunts you," Cameron stresses. You lower your head a bit.

"I should probably stay on then. I already have enough ghosts floating in the breeze these days," you mumble. Cameron's curiosity is obvious on her face when you look back up. You pick up where your train of thought left off, saying, "I've been thinking about my mother a lot. And, not just the counting stars, but the real stuff, the serious stuff that happened much later…. Have you ever hated someone, Dr. Cameron?"

Cameron thinks before nodding.

"Yes. But, it didn't last long."

You grin in a spiteful sort of way.  _Of course it didn't._

You drone on, emotionlessly, "Yes, with you it probably wouldn't. When I was younger, back before my mom died, I knew what real hatred was. I knew the emotion, the signs, and the physical and mental effects it brought on. I didn't just hate a kid in my class, or a teacher, or the disease; I hated my mother. And, I wanted her dead."

The declaration came out so powerfully, so smoothly; it was pretty clear that you truly had felt that way once upon a time. You are sure now that Cameron will turn away, like most people do. You even begin to prepare yourself for another run-in with the latest ghost of your nightmares. You don't get too far into that before she speaks again.

"Do you still hate her?" Cameron interrogates.

"No. I can't. I understand now. Ignorance isn't bliss, Cameron. Ignorance and immaturity made me blind to what was going on around me. I didn't get why she screamed at me every time she spoke. I couldn't ponder why she insisted on doing such idiotic things in front of my friends, making me look like a fool. I wanted her to feel the same amount of humiliation and frustration that I did. I felt the only way a woman that old could do so would be to die."

You stare intently at the floor throughout the entire thing. You decide that Cameron's shoes are cute enough that you can ask where they're from. It will give a topic change at the very least. You do not ask though, choosing instead to wait for the blonde's next comment.

"You, uh, really put a lot of thought into it, didn't you?" Cameron says.

"I put enough thought into it that when my teacher gave us journal writes, I wrote about her. I wrote about what I hated in her, and what I would finally get to do when it was just me and my dad. I found the journal the other day. Started using the empty pages in the back to keep track of my trial medication," you go on.

"You must feel pretty bad now," Cameron supplies to the lingering somber mood.  _No shit._

"Understatement of the year," you announce, "I can't close my eyes without seeing my dad in the car, driving to the hospital with my mom in the front seat. I didn't even go with them."

Your voice drops to a whisper, and you conclude with, "I never even said good-bye."

Cameron stands from her chair. She crosses the space between the two of you, and throws her arms around you. Your mind is not in perfect condition. Your thought processes are slow, and pathetic due to all the emotional turmoil. You aren't of sound mind and body. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself to explain your motive for hugging the blonde back.

You wrap yourself up with the slightly shorter female, resting your chin in the nook between neck and shoulder.

You stay like that for a moment before you feel something wet. You open your mouth to mention something about sweat glands, but close it upon noticing the wetness is not coming from Cameron. You reach a hand up to your face, touching the small salty drops that trickle from your wide eyes. The very thought that you are crying has more on the way. You are, in that moment, relieved that it was only Cameron to appear tonight. Anyone else would be selling tickets to a rare occurrence. But, not Alison Cameron. No, this person just holds on tightly, not speaking, not moving; just being there. And, somehow, that is enough to make the haunting a little more bearable.


	4. You Got... Me Fed and Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Remy found some comfort in Cameron's embrace. And, now, she repays the favor, giving Cameron a little bit of much needed care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (#741 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Sigh")  
> Cameron is "you"

You find yourself sighing more these days, losing interest in the things you used to care so much about. It is not a question to you why this is happening. But, it does bother you that you cannot recall when, or how, it happened.

A long time ago, for it seems that way now, you would wake in the morning completely in love, enthused for a day of work in the Emergency Room at the hospital you have now been working at for five years. You would kiss Chase on the lips, and fly out to his car where he would give you a ride to work. But, all too soon, it seemed to morph into something else.

Now, you wake in the morning and make your coffee drudgingly. You groan when you remember you have to work, and barely come near that boyfriend of yours at all. When you sit across from him, it is awkward, and meals out on the town have been replaced by separate lunches in your offices, and maybe a glance across the cafeteria when you're buying it.

Chase used to mean something to you. And, it is rather concerning the way you can so easily make that sentence past tense and move on with your train of thought. Five years you have known him. It took little under one for you to want nothing more to do with him. Space he used to occupy inside your mind is now filled with thoughts of the patients you encounter at your job, and the lack of contact with the Houseketeers, as the nurses call them.

"Oh."

There it is again. The sigh. It slips from your lips so commonly, so fluidly, that it should scare you. Too bad you have no time to be scared. You have no time for anything, rushing through the lobby of the hospital in a quick dash from Cuddy's office. You are supposed to be going back to finish up that paperwork. However, that notion is trumped when the light of a familiar clinic room catches your eye.

You make your way over to Exam Room Three, and push open the door curiously. You are not sure what it is you were expecting. You are sure, though, boxes of food on top of the examining table and a smirking Doctor Hadley beside it are definitely not on the list.

You step into the room, peaking over your shoulder hesitantly.

"Dr. Hadley, what are you doing here?" you inquire.

"Nothing much," she responds vaguely. You wait for her to say something more.

She doesn't.

"Are you going to answer my question?" you further investigate.

"I was hoping you could figure it out yourself," she says, "I mean, we have a clinic room, me, nighttime, comfy chairs, and food."

You take a second to mull that over. You have plenty of thoughts coursing through your head, but the only one that really stands out is definitely not one you'd like to think on much longer. You go for the second choice.

"You planning in seducing Foreman in the clinic?" you suggest. She stares at you for a moment before shaking her head. It is kind of obvious you were wrong.

"No, Cameron, I was actually trying to do something nice for you. You, uh, it was really nice of you to stay with me the other day. I wanted to repay you for it," she explains. You slowly nod in comprehension. Then, feel your face flush just a bit. She's doing something nice for you. She is actually at the hospital at ten at night simply to thank you for a small encounter from two weeks ago. You are not really sure what would be the correct response now.

Instead of trying to speak, you walk over to one of the comfy chairs. You slide into it, and instantly recognize the softness to be that of the psych ward. They find the chairs to be something that calms the patients. Before you never really understood just how calming simply sitting in a soft seat could be. You close your eyes, as another, more pleasurable sigh comes out this time.

"I knew the chairs were good," a teasing voice starts, "But that makes them sound like so much more."

You peek at the brunette through a hooded eyelid and can't help but let your latest thought slip through.

"They're orgasmic."

She chuckles, asking, "Did you know a woman can have an hour long orgasm?"

You laugh at that, nodding as energetically as you can.

"Yeah, I know."

Hadley raises an eyebrow at you.

"Do you know that from experience?" she jests in an over-exaggerated expression. You shake your head there, and lean back into the chair.

"Isn't that a little personal?" you ask.

"Eh, I figured I'd try to even the balance of ridiculously embarrassing things shared," she says.

"And sex is embarrassing?"

"You seemed pretty embarrassed the last time it was brought up. Figured I'd give it a try," she pauses, "Is it just me, or did that sound wrong?"

"It sounded a little wrong," you agree.

"Okay, then, let's change the subject to something a little less… House-ish. Uh, what happened for you in these last two weeks?" she questions.

You lower your head just a tad. You figure that she is expecting tales of happiness and little Christmas spirit, but that simply is not the case. Truthfully, you were at the hospital every day, working. Your last day off for any reason was the twenty-sixth of December, and that was only because you needed to go pick up Chase from the airport.

"I worked," you confess. She gapes at you in disbelief.

"You worked?" she repeats, "How could you have possibly worked? Blondes are supposed to be out having fun."

"Well, I'm naturally a brunette, which is, in laymen terms, the color of an overachiever," you inform.

She takes it in stride, commenting, "You aren't a brunette anymore. Do stereotypical blonde things and party. Hell, brunettes do that too. Life is really long, Doctor Cameron. You have to have some fun in there too."

"And this from the dying girl," you mumble softly. Well, obviously not soft enough because Hadley gets that slightly wounded look that you recognize a bit too keenly now.

"Yeah, it is. The dying girl is first to say that life isn't short. The dying girl is right on board with having a little fun. The dying girl--"

"Can you stop referring to yourself like that?" you request, feeling guilty for putting those words in the conversation in the first place.

"Why should I? It's who I am. I am a dying girl. And, I'm slowly working on accepting that while doing other things. Drugs trials, lunches, stealing chairs, actually dating someone; all the things I'm doing in my life that amount to more than sitting in a hospital for months at a time. You, on the other hand, are doing nothing. You can't simply waste your time doing things for other people," she lectures.

"I'm a doctor. Doing things for other people is my life," you interject.

"No, it's what you do. It doesn't have to be your life. If your entire Christmas season was spent working, you need to change some things. If you can't recall the last time you did something just for you, not because you needed to, or someone was counting on you, but just for the hell of it, then it has been too long. And, if you are sitting in an exam room, getting advice from a person who works for House, of all people, you obviously need a better way to spend your time. Cameron, go out and do something. Or, at the very least, eat and get some sleep," Hadley commands. You just have to smile at the end of it. It is almost comforting this moment. It is almost like you are the patient, and she is the big bad doctor disciplining you for your bad habits up to this point. Almost like she… cares.

A box is in front of you in an instant. And, you erase the almost from your last sentence. You take it in your hands and open it, revealing the sensational smell of pasta carbonara. The very scent has your stomach rumbling to life.

You peer up at Hadley, placing your hand over your midsection embarrassedly.

"Looks like you're as hungry as I thought," she comments.

"I didn't even realize I was hungry," you confess. She just motions for you to eat. So, you grab a fork, pushing it into the pasta. You twirl it around for a moment, practically mesmerized by the way little bits of sauce fly away when moved. You bring the food to your mouths, and the taste of it makes you moan softly. You stab the utensil back down, instantly, getting more of it for yourself. You don't moan at this bite, and you don't stop at it either. Don't stop until the box is empty, and even then you have a garlic roll and a bottle of beer waiting.

Upon noticing the beer, you smile, because, truthfully, it has always been preferred to the wine Chase insists on having with dinner. You drain it just as fast as you did the food, and place it with your empty box when you're done.

Your body, now more full than it has been in days, sinks into the plush of the seat. Your eyes flutter close. Your breathing slowly slows. And that sleep that Hadley mentioned earlier seems very appealing. But, you have work to do. Lots and lots of work to do.

You go to sit up, but feel the gentle pressure of your companion's hand against your shoulders.

"Sleep," she commands soothingly. And, you don't really feel like arguing. So, you cozy on into the chair a bit further, and sigh one more time, as you drift off to sleep.


	5. You Got... A Day With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (#144 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Cold Feet")  
> Thirteen is "you"

As a doctor, you know plenty of things. You know the number of bones in the human body for example, and at exactly what doses certain things become lethal. As an employee for House, you know that everybody lies, and that, unless you're a magician, it is never lupus. And, as a female, you know that when it comes to clothing items, one of the most important is your socks. Now, if you said that to your boyfriend, he would laugh at you, and mock you relentlessly for hours. Luckily for you, said boyfriend was too busy to be able to come with you to the mall this fine Saturday. And, even luckier, there was a sale scheduled for this afternoon for all footwear, socks included.

You stroll down the aisles of clothes, looking for the sign indicating the seventy-five percent off sale. You are just a few lanes away when something else catches your eye.

"Cameron?" you call. She turns towards you, and smiles. You walk closer to her.

"Small world," she says. You nod.

"What are you doing here?" you ask. Seeing her look, you add, "Besides the obvious."

She chuckles.

"I needed something to do, and figured a day out on the town would be better than sitting in my apartment, alone," she answers.

You frown.

"Chase--"

"Surgery," she quickly intercepts, "Why are you here?"

"Cold feet," you respond.

"The sock sale?" she checks.

"Best fuzzy socks in Jersey, right here," you gush.

"I know. I would come here my first few years just because this was the only store whose staff had never been introduced to House's madness," she shares.

"What difference would it make?" you wonder.

"Those who had dealt with House, seemed to have some way of smelling it on me, or something. They seemed to know, and always had questions, comments, or something to say about him," she informs.

"Why not just go to the other mall in town?"

"This one is five minutes from home in my car, and about fifteen in a jog," she replies.

You make a note of that in your mind, and reach for a shirt near you.

"Only downside, this store has hideous choice in, well, everything else," you point out. She glances at the shirt in your arms and promptly agrees with you.

"Very true. What do you say we get out of here?" she suggests.

"What about my socks?" you mock-whine in a frighteningly good impression of your boss.

"Eh, I'll buy you some for your birthday," she remarks.

You consider for a moment checking to see if she knows the exact date, but then let it go. After all, she wants to go somewhere. It isn't really like you have much to do today. You actually have nothing to do.

"Where will we go?" you inquire. She gets this look, like she is trying to break down a problem. You wait, silently, for her to finish thinking.

She turns to you, "Have you seen  _The Curious Case of Benjamin Button_?"

You give her a look.

"You worked for House. You know the work hours," you say to her. She smiles. It is obvious by her excitement that she was more than a little bored before you came across her. It's even more obvious by the way her hand closes around yours that this professional relationship is growing into something more. The thought has you feeling flushed, and you find yourself wishing your birthday on. Having only your upper appendages burning cannot be good.

"In comparison to your cheeks right now, I'd say you really do have cold feet," mocks the blonde doctor when you two reach the doors of the store.

You give a breathy chuckle, and follow behind her.

 


	6. You Got... to Listen to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made an episode tag again, people. This one is to "The Greater Good", otherwise known as the 100th episode of House M.D. I wanted to do something on the Remy goes blind angle, so, I decided that before House arrived at her apartment, Cameron made an appearance. Cameron might be out of character, but it's a peculiar situation. Also, I wanted to show the manipulative side of Cameron again because it definitely leads into the next two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (#475 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Listen Carefully")  
> Cameron is "you"

You place the key in the lock with a sigh. This is your second time breaking into her apartment, your second time coming without warning or invitation, and your second time getting keys from the ex-boss you try so hard to ignore. You almost chuckle thinking of his reaction when you asked him for the keys.

_His eyes bulged out a bit in surprise, with a hint of excitement in them as well._

_"Wait, you want me to give you the purely hypothetical and illegally obtained keys to my female fellow's home?" he had asked, "If I give you the keys, can I watch?"_

You push open the door, and step through. The place is no different from last time you were there, even though it's been months since then. You look around. When you notice her sitting in a chair her head resting back, you suppose she is sleeping. You take a step back to leave, but stop when you hear it.

It being her voice, soft and almost frightened.

"Who is it?" she whispers. Her head stays back, and she makes no attempt to open her eyes. You round the corner, waving slightly at her, even though she isn't looking.

"It's Cameron," you reply, "I heard you weren't feeling well and wanted to check on you. Kutner said you were probably at home, so, I came over."

"And you broke in again," she adds. You wave the keys in the air.

"I used a key," you correct.

"A key that was made by House's creepy P.I.," she further corrects. You walk around towards her. Still, she makes no move to look at you. Your worry-wart mentality jumps in, and you find yourself asking,

"Are you okay?"

She is quiet for a while after that. Since she does not instantly respond with fervor, like usual, you only feel your concern swell.

Your clear your throat.

"No," she finally answers.

"What's wrong?" you inquire. She gives a low, humorless laugh.

"What's right?" is her retort.

"Well, it's sunny outside," you inform. She once again has an empty chuckle.

"I wouldn't notice," she mumbles downcast. You wait for her to say more, but nothing ever comes. Instead, she brings her head up so that it is facing you and opens her eyes. You watch her for a moment, unsure if the blank stare should tell you more than that she has something on her mind.

"Uh, I'm going to need a little more than a blank stare," you comment.

"A blank stare is all I can give you. I can't see anything," she confesses.

You aren't completely sure how to react to that. Should you comfort her, ask questions, turn away, or just pretend it is no big deal? You are leaning towards the second choice. With this new revelation, her disease must surely be on the topic of discussion now. You don't really want to leave it be for a second time.

"Why? What happened?" you question.

"Let's just say that somebody we both know made a really dumb decision, and now, I can't see anything. I even bumped into the table that has been in the center of my apartment since I got it," she drones.

"It's not like you're missing out on much. It's a crappy day," you try, hoping to brighten her mood a bit.

"You just said it was sunny outside, Cameron," she mentions.

"I lied," you say.

"Everybody does it. Why not blonde E.R docs?" she mutters.

The defeat in her tone reaches out to you. It grabs you in its hold and centers your thoughts solely in one direction. The direction of the unmentionable, humongous, pink elephant sitting in the center of the room smirking as if it is the only one who knows when and how it will take her. While you begrudge this silence her latest setback brings, you can't help but feel joyful at the fact that she can't see your conflicted expression.

Even though she can't see yours, you can see hers perfectly. You can read the lines in her forehead caused by the frustration, the wrinkles at the side of her mouth, and even the lightness of her neck and breaths. Suddenly, an idea comes to you. Why should you sit here and avoid the big picture? Why wait and make meaningless conversation, when you can simply coerce her into discussing it herself?

Once again, her not being able to see helps; your smirk would surely give you away.

"Hadley, why do you want to see so bad?" you wonder, "I mean, what is it that appeals to you?"

She shrugs, replying, "I've been seeing my whole life. Why stop now?"

"That doesn't really answer my question," you tell her, "Sight is nothing but the icing on the cake. It's what you hear, what you touch and feel, that really makes the day."

She quirks an eyebrow - something she can do even without needing to see the dopey expression you now sport - asking, "What's a cake without icing?"

"A cake," you deadpan, "It is what it is. Just as life is what it is without your gorgeous blue eyes leading the way."

"I'm a doctor, Cameron. I can't be a doctor, if I can't see my patient," she says.

"House never sees his patients," you argue.

"But, he can if he wants to," she rebuts.

"Look, I'm going to describe something to you, and I want you to tell me that you can't see it in front of you, can't envision what I'm describing," you challenge.

"Alright, go ahead," she accepts. You clear your throat, and pause, as if looking for something. While you already know exactly what it is you want to talk about, you don't want her to know that.

"Okay, say you're sitting in the lab. All around you are the beakers and the cold steel of the tabletops is sending little tingles through your arms. You, of course, don't move them because you're too stiff to do so. The halls are bare outside, and there seems to be no noise anywhere. You slowly hear the beep of the machine, and you whirl around quick enough to still see the flash of the red. It burns a bit to see it, but you walk towards it nonetheless. It grows bigger with each step, and you watch as the paper comes out. It's like any other paper, but it seems haunting. It's crisp like a new dollar, and your hand closes around it shakily. You bring it up to your face, and your eyes rake the paper for the one word you simply know will be there. Then, right when you believe you're in the clear, it is right there, bestowed upon you like the rainstorm is granted to the unsuspecting windowpane. You take in each letter. The slope and curve of the P that leads into the stem, the roundness of the O, and the slithering serpent that is the S; it's mesmerizing. It's captivating. It's--"

"Okay!" she shrieks suddenly.

You stop speaking; your slow and taunting tone disintegrating into nothing more than a hum that doesn't quite make it through to your throat. The smirk is on your face again, when the lines of fear are more prominent in hers. You know that you shouldn't take joy in this, but the fact that she is listening to you and getting something is really too special to ignore. It also doesn't hurt that the normally brazen and crass young woman has succumbed to this frightened creature.

Her head falls back again. Just as you open your mouth, hers tightens exceptionally and quivers with the force of a protector slamming into that unlucky thing that disturbed its ward. Your chaste nature has you remorseful, almost instantly, seeing the pain your lead-in has caused. Before you can even begin to get the words out, the silence is filled again.

"It's like you were there," she whispers into the room, "And, I could see it again when you spoke. I could see the stupid letters that I wished with all my heart to disappear. I could feel the sweat that pooled on my palms, leaving a mark on the page. Damnit, I was even able to see my face as it came across those letters."

Her voice is growing louder, you note. And, it is no longer just her jaw shaking.

"I saw it all! How did you capture that so perfectly? How in the hell did you do that? My eyes don't work, but I can still see those three letters shining at me," she cries, "They're so damn bright."

You have the sinking sensation that sorry just won't cut it anymore. Unsure of what else to do, you stand up from where you had been sitting on the couch. You cross over to her and place your hand on her shoulder. She turns into it, placing those empty orbs onto your skin. No longer do you notice the big pink elephant, too caught up in the fact that this is the second time she has cried on you, the second time she has broken down and let you in to her shell, and the second time that you've found yourself at a loss for words when so many things needed to be said.


	7. You Got... to (hick) Help Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one, Remy has hiccups, and Cameron has a very interesting cure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (#348 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Hiccups")  
> Thirteen is "you"

_"It's so damn bright."_

The words echo in your mind, over and over. Ever since you admitted to it, you have not been able to stop thinking about it. Everywhere you turn, it seems like your thoughts are loaded down by those words. They no longer just apply to the three letters on the piece of paper that pissed you off so much earlier on. No, now, they apply to the look on your mother's face when the car pulled away, or the look on Alison's face as you mentioned her not-so-secret crush on House from forever ago. Not only that, but also the feelings you felt and the little odd thoughts that come to you whenever you think of the blonde doctor.

Why is it that she keeps invading your head? Why? There are certainly other people you could think of. Eric is a prime example. He  _is_  your boyfriend, after all. But, he isn't the one you were crying on last week. He isn't the one who was able to make you relive the very moment you got your diagnosis. He isn't even the one who left the building while you were crying. He's just your boyfriend, the one with the keys to your place that he actually owns, the one who runs the drug trial (or used to), and the one who has never actually seen you really cry, not even once.

_Stop comparing them_ , a voice inside you screams.  _It's stupid to do it_ , the voice continues.  _She'll probably win_ , it taunts.

You duck your head, then, hoping to block out the voice and its idiotic ideas. You almost feel schizophrenic in that moment, even though you know the thoughts are completely and one hundred percent your own. You just don't want to think them anymore.

A door opens, giving you the out you desire. Through the door comes the very person you were just thinking about, clad in her typical pink scrubs.

"Oh, Remy, there you are," she says.

"Here I am," you mumble unenthusiastically. She does not notice your lack in energy.

"I've been looking for you. I wanted to apologize for my behavior last--"

_Is she serious? She wants to apologize for her behavior? What did she do wrong? Other than make me cry, and leave me alone, and not call to make sure I didn't accidentally walk off the balcony or anything…._

"There's nothing to apologize for," you interrupt, though you believe it a bit less than you did before after voicing it.

"I should not have walked away," she insists adamantly.

"It's fine. I kind of wanted to be alone anyway," you argue.

"You don't need to play the tough person card, Remy," she informs.

"What card?" you ask, grasping onto a nearby water bottle, "I really did want to be alone."

"You shouldn't always get what you want," she comments.

"Well, I did," you lie.

"I'm sorry, again. I just couldn't stay there any longer," she tries to explain. You scoff,  _typical_.

"What couldn't take being around the pathetic, brooding, dying girl?" you snap.

"No!" she disagrees vehemently, "I couldn't take my thoughts around the 'pathetic, brooding, dying girl'. I was having very odd thoughts."

"I understand how thoughts of depression and blindness could be odd for you," you dryly say.

"I wasn't thinking about blindness, or depression. I was just thinking about you… and me," she adds under her breath.

You blink twice, unsure if you heard her correctly, and sure that she meant it in a very different way than the normal context.

"Look, Alison, I should probably get back to work. House is a very demanding boss, you know," you excuse yourself. She grabs your wrist and turns you towards her.

"I'm still talking," she announces, "And, I'm not going to let you leave until I'm done."

You breathlessly chuckle at the finality in her tone. Since you really aren't needed for the case, you figure a few minutes of dominant Alison won't cost you too much. You take your seat.

"I'm listening," you tell her. She nods and clears her throat.

"Now, I have a bit of speaking to do, so, I really just need you to listen. When we first met, it was very poor introduction that was rushed and only brought on by your need of information and my inability to distance myself from House," she begins. You can tell from that that this is going to be a long speech. You get the water bottle back in your grip.

"And our second meeting was not much better, what with me breaking in and everything. Our collisions into each other's lives were never good. They never seemed to really help in anyway. But then it came Christmas time and you cried, and I let you. You cried and I figured there had to be something there, something other than just the façade you put on every day. And, I invested time into maybe knowing you a bit better. And you helped me quite a bit as well, what with your surprise meal and forcing me to sleep in the chairs from the psych ward, and well…"

Alison's voice trails off. You find your hold on the bottle has gotten a bit tighter.

"We went shopping, and we saw a movie. We were acting like friends, which was very different," she continues once her voice returns, "And then came last week. I just wanted to hang out, you know? And then, you were so vulnerable and I took advantage of that. I made you cry."

You open the water bottle, and take a small sip.

"Last time you cried, I thought that there was something behind what you always showed at work. This time, when you cried, I had finally found what it was beneath everything. And, I was shocked and kind of taken aback to say the least," she goes on. You lift the bottle to your lips and really start to drink it down, quickly.

"When you turned into my hand, crying, because I made you think back to when you found out about your diagnosis, I just… there were these thoughts, thoughts I'd never had before, thoughts I'd never expected. Only, I sort of did expect them because our friendship is very weird and very different. And, I'm rambling. Look, Remy, what I've been trying to say is--"

" _Hiccup!_ "

She freezes. You freeze. You both pause, staring. You with your wide eyes look to the bottle you emptied, and she watches you do this. Everything is silent in the room you two have chosen to reside in for the moment. All is--

" _Hiccup!_ "

You clap a hand over your mouth, but it doesn't help.

" _Hiccup!_ "

You clap the other hand, and nothing changes.

" _Hiccup!_ "

She starts giggling now. You are powerless to stop the little monsters from ruining what you are sure was going to be a very pivotal moment in your relationship with Alison Cameron. Her mind has been deterred. The moment is surely over. And the hiccups just keep coming.

" _Hiccup! Hiccup! Hiccup!_ "

Her body wracks with laughter, and you try to glare at her. More hiccups keep you from holding a straight face though. You end up simply pouting, with your body making small involuntary lurches every few seconds.

She does calm eventually. Sadly, you still have hiccups when she does. You catch a small smirk on her face.

"You know, I know a way to get rid of hiccups," she whispers conspiratorially.

"Right, you have mad hiccup-killing powers," you jest.

"Wanna see?" she asks, almost shyly.

"Go ahead, I doubt it'll work anyway," you challenge.

She steps forward, placing her hands on your shoulders and steadying you. Your eyes lock. And before you know it, her lips are on yours. She pulls back not too long after, and the two of you hold that gaze again. She doesn't move as if waiting for you to speak. You rack your mind for something, anything you could possibly say that would make you seem like less of the illiterate dumbstruck teenager that you feel like in this second. In the end, all you can think to say is:

"My hiccups are definitely gone."


End file.
